


Bright Spark

by Scraplette



Series: MTMTE fandom [1]
Category: MTMTE - Fandom, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Darker themes in later chapters, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scraplette/pseuds/Scraplette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Rung's encounter with the Sparkeater left a rather serious mark. I'll add more chapters to this because I really like the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that's been floating around my head for a while. I'll add more chapters as they come to me because I'm really digging this idea.

Rung slowly crawled his way to consciousness. Peering down at him, holding a data-pad and stylus, was Perceptor.

“He's awake” the scientist murmured, stepping aside and out of Rung's line of sight. He was replaced a second later by Ratchet and a medic he hadn't seen before... a medic with a really bad paint job.

“Do you know where you are?” Ratchet asked, slow and careful. Not at all like his usual bedside manner. Why were the old medic's hands blue?

_'Just how bad am I?'_

Rung's optics flickered, taking in his surroundings. “The medlab...” his croaked in reply. His voice sounded strange, distorted and static laden. Lack of use? A glitch? 

Ratchet nodded, grimly. “Good, that's good. And your name?” there was a whirl and a click, Ratchet's arm transforming into a medical scanner.

Rung would have sighed if he hadn't known that these questions, inane as they were, were part of normal medical procedure. “It's Rung, as in ladder,” he added, recalling his first visit to the medlab a few days earlier.

Had it only been a few days ago? His internal chronometer, as well as a few peripheral and major functions, were offline. How many days had he lost? “Ratchet, how long have I been here?” eyes widening with panic. “What happened?”

Ratchet froze, as did Perceptor and the flaking Medic. The three bots exchanged furtive glances and Rung felt his panic spike. “What do you remember?”

What did he remember? He'd been in his office, straightening out a few odds and end, and then...

His office door slamming into the opposite wall.

A clawed hand plunging into his chest. 

Looking up into the frantic face of Skids.

A tingling pain that inched up through his fingers and into his wrists.

His spark, burning. The paint on his plating bubbling from the amount of heat his frame was putting out, fans whirling in vain to cool his overheating systems.

He gasped softy. “The sparkeater!” 

“Easy there. We're going to bring your systems back online.” Ratchet swapped his scanner for his hand and placed it over Rung's shoulder. “We'll be monitoring you the whole time, but if you feel anything out of the ordinary, let us know and we'll stop right away. You ready?”

“I-I think so.”

Ratchet nodded and signaled to the Flaky Medic. There was a faint click and a Rung's frame jolted.

Awareness returned to him one activated system at a time. He likened the sensation to watching an elaborate glass fill with liquid. New, unfamiliar coding flooded into his cortex, creating connections and linking up to... something? 

He gave this new connection a cautionary prod. At first nothing happened. The link pinged back at him, signalling that the new systems and coding had been successfully integrated. The second attempt garnered a response. 

There was a hiss of metal sliding against metal, the soft rattle of panels clicking against one other, and then he saw it as it moved into his field of vision.

“Oh, Primus!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung learns to adapt to his new body and the situation as a whole. But news soon reaches him of another in need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this. I'm honestly surprised by how easily the words are coming to me. Whether or not it's any good is another thing, though XD
> 
> Rather than one cohesive plot. I plan to write this as a series of short related fics dealing with Rung and his new Sparkeateresque condition.

“You should give it a rest,” Ratchet suggested, helpfully, from his work station.

“Just one more try...” Rung replied without taking his focus off the small rubber ball on the table in front of him. Trailing from his slim back were four serpentine arms, each ending with a three pronged claw.

Ratchet muttered irritably and walked up beside Rung, keeping a fair bit of distance between him and the tentacles that, for the moment, seemed content to sway gently in place. “You said that about four attempts ago” he pointed out, his gruff voice taking on a sharper edge, no doubt annoyed that he was being forced to abandon his "important work".

Rung, too focused on his own task to care all that much, inched a tentacle over the small ball and gently closed the claw around it. For one glorious second he thought he'd finally done it! But the moment was short lived. The claw snapped shut tight and fast around the rubber ball which swelled against the crushing force for all of a second before it burst in his grip.

Mindful of his new talons, he buried his face in his hands and sighed. “Dammit.” 

Ratchet claimed the empty seat beside Rung and pushed a glass of medical-grade energon towards the smaller bot. “You, more than anyone, should know not to push yourself. You're taking that break. Now.” 

Yes, Rung did know. Most of the treatment plan for frame adaptation was based on research he'd published a lifetime ago. Resigned to his fate, Rung lowered his hands and wrapped them carefully around the glass. His eyes were drawn back to the table where Ratchet was using his new blue hands to sweep the remains of Rung's latest failure onto the floor, leaving the mess for a medical drone to clean up, no doubt.

A lot had changed in the few weeks Rung had been temporary off-line. The introduction of First-Aid(showing a huge improvement in regard to his Autobrand obsession!) and Amublon(now revealed to be the flaky medic from earlier) to the medical staff was one such change. And the other...?

Rung frowned while his claws taped an idle tune against the sides of his glass. “So, First-Aid told me about Delphi,” said said, slowly and evenly. 

“Did he now?”

Rung watched Ratchet carefully, searching his body language for any signs of distress or aggression. So far so good...

“I'm not going to force you to talk about Pharma. As one medical professional to another, I trust you enough to talk to me-”

Ratchet snorted, loudly and dismissively.

“- when you feel ready to. However... I feel that there is someone I need to talk to quite urgently.”

Ratchet dusted off his hands. “Nope.” 

Rung's grip tightened around the glass. “You didn't give me a chance to-”

“I know exactly who you're talking about,” Ratchet said, tersely. “And the answer is still no. Neither he or you are ready for it.”

“Ratchet, with all due respect, we have a duty of care towards Fortress Maximus. And as the ship's psychiatrist I'm the most qualified to help him. He's never really dealt with the events of Garrus 9-”

“And as the CMO of the entire Autobot faction, I have a duty of care towards all my patients, yourself included. And you will not leave this room until I'm convinced that you've suitably adapted to your frame's alterations.”

Rung was ready to fight Ratchet on this point. But all thoughts and words abandoned him as the sound of shattering glass filled his audials. He shifted his gaze to his hands and the splintered remains of his glass... Had he really been holding it that tightly?

Ratchet shot to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor. He fixed Rung with an irritated glare and pointed at the ruined glass. “Slaggit! That is exactly what I'm talking about! I know Max needs help. I read the same file as you. Hell, I was there on Delphi when he tore those two 'cons apart,” Ratchet all but snarled, his famous bedside manner making itself known. “But here's the thing. Your body was changed, against your will might I add, by a parasite that eats the souls of the living to survive. Those new arms of yours can break through solid steel and you can't even pick up a paperweight without turning it into shrapnel,” he slammed his palm on the table, the impact strong enough to make Rung flinch and his tentacles to twitch, reacting to his growing distress. “ You can't treat patients in this condition. Not until you learn control to yourself.” 

Rung looked down at his tightly clenched, energon stained hands. His fingers, once perfectly designed for assembling even the most delicate of model ships, had lengthened into a pair of wickedly sharp claws. Aesthetically his frame hadn't changed that much. He was still on the scrawny side with thin, frail looking limbs. But the Sparkeater parasite had seen fit to sharpen his features both figuratively and literally, giving him the appearance of an adept hunter. And then there were the new arms, all four of them. If they weren't knocking things over or latching onto pieces of furniture, then they were picking up random items, seemingly of their own volition. 

How could he help anyone like this?

There was a tired sounding sigh, and Rung's claws disappeared under the rich blue of Ratchet's hands.The medic coaxed the other bot into loosening his grip. “Just for the moment, how about you worry about yourself.” the old medic huffed, sofetly. He pulled a cloth from his sub-space and began gently wiping away the energon. “Then perhaps we can worry about Max, together. Okay?”

There was a pause as Rung realised that Ratchet was right, of course. As much as he wanted, needed, to help Fortress Maximus. First and foremost, he needed to consider his own recovery.

“Okay...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung gains a new perspective.

Ratchet thumbed through page after page of medical data as Rung, sitting on the adjacent med-berth, watched on anxiously.

Eventually the medic lowered the datapad and flashed Rung a rare smile. “It's all looking good. Your old systems are meshing quite nicely with the new. And, so far, your main processor is writing new code with little outside prompting,” he tucked the datapad under one arm and gripped Rung's shoulder with the his free hand.

Rung, relieved beyond all measure, placed a clawed hand over the steady glow on his chest and sighed. “That, is really good to hear,” he laughed, breathlessly. All the tension melted from his frame, even his tentacles seem to relax as each one flopped limply over the med-berth. 

He had noticed a marked improvement in his fine control but to hear Ratchet confirm it with hard medical data, well, to say it was a huge weight off his mind would have been a massive understatement.

“Keep it up and we can clear you for light duty in a week or two,” Ratchet chuckled, squeezing Rung's shoulder in another surprising display of open affection. Rung accepted the geasture with quiet grace and gratitude. Ratchet and his team had worked tirelessly, and often with very little information, to help Rung face his condition head-on. So let Ratchet have his moment. He'd more than earned it.

Rung couldn't help but mirror that smile, especially when it came with the tentative promise of returning to his duties. “I can't thank you enough.”

“Pfft, the medic flapped a dismissive hand. “Don't thank me for doing my job.”

“Then at least have a drink on me?” he noticed Ratchet's biolights flicker with interest. “I hear Swerve's bar is doing quite well.”

“Oh yes,” Ratchet snorted and tossed the datapad onto the closest work station. “So long as no one tells Ultra Magnus about it.”

Rung reset his optics. That couldn't be right. How could Ultra Magnus not know about an illegal bar operating right under his nose. Even Rung knew about the infamous bar, and he'd been confined to the medlab for just over a month with no visitors. How was this possible?

Ratchet must have read his expression, or lack thereof, because he shrugged and muttered, “Yeah, I don't know how that happened either.”

“It does seem rather...” Rung fought desperately for the right word. He was not the kind of bot to speak ill of people, especially behind their back. “Lax of him,” yes, that sounded about right. Not too judgemental at all...

“He's probably off measuring door frames or something just as tedious.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Ratchet patted a piece of medical equipment Rung had yet to learn the proper name for. “Come on. One last scan and we'll call it a day.”

Eager to return to his practice, Rung nodded and slid off the repair-berth, unaware that one of his tentacles had coiled itself around his right ankle. Ratchet shouted a warning but it came too late. Sparks flew as clawed hands failed to gain purchase on anything. Even his tentacles, without a focused mind to guide them, were next to useless. He hit the ground hard, the impact forcing a cry out of him. Before any pain could register there was a soft 'click', the sound of a filter snapping over his optics, and then all he saw was starlight.

Above, below and all around him were scattered pinpricks of light floating in a world turned drab grey. 

_'What's happening'_ he reached out for the nearest star. His hand clasped around nothing, no surprise there if he was honest honest with himself, but an amazing sense of awe filled him as understanding came to him.

They were sparks. Each and every one of those 'stars' belonged to a member of the Lost Light. This was how the Sparkeater hunted its prey. Not with some sophisticated sensor array as Perceptor had theorised, but by tracking the light of your very spark and soul. Even with just a quick glance Rung could tell which sparks would provide the most sustenance If he was so inclined to feed. He realised he should have been filled with horror at the realization but his spark swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite place.

Now that he understood what he was looking at he began to notice all their individuals quirks. Some glimmered while others blazed. Most of them were blue but Rung spotted a few dots of emerald green scattered here and there. And for some of them, the ones he assumed were on the levels just above him, he could see where the spark split and branched out, filling every nerve, sensor and circuit with light and life. The animating force that made them so much more than machines.

So many different sparks but all so beautiful...

There was another soft click and the old world snapped back into focus. Colour returned to his vision but it paled in comparison to sight he'd just witnessed. Ratchet fussed over him, bending limbs this way and that, as well as asking him very specific questions('Does it hurt if I move it that way?' 'How about the tentacles? Can you open and close them for me?') and Rung, ever the dutiful and cooperative patient, answered the questions and performed the movements as instructed. 

All those other sparks burned so brightly. 

Just how bright had his own spark been to single him out from all the others?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just my own idea for how the sparkeater tracks and hunts it's prey. This chapter marks a turning point because from here on out we'll be getting into the actual meat of the story. I'm looking forward to it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Giddy. AUNT! 
> 
> This chapter, my dear readers, this bloody chapter @_@ it kicked my arse. It's been through several rewrites ranging from a boardroom meeting amongst the command staff, to an encounter with Red Alert, to something else entirely. Nothing was feeling right! Then yesterday it all came to me. I literally sat down and wrote this in the space of two days. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. Just, bless you all.
> 
> WARNINGS: Panic attacks feature rather heavily in this chapter, just a warning. There's also a brief mention of body dysmorphia but nothing in-depth.

From outside the bar, Rung could hear the gentle hum of conversation, mixed with the occasional sound of clinking glasses and abrupt laughter. It seemed, even this late into the evening shift, that Swerve's really was as popular as the rumours he'd heard.

Rung looked up at the brightly lit sign above the door, and wondered about the people inside and how they would react once he entered the bar. Though his condition was no secret, few crew mates had actually since Rung since his transformation. Would they recoil in fear? Draw their weapons? Or carry on as if a mythical creature from Cybertron's dark past hadn't just stepped into their favourite bar. 

His tentacles curled around his frame, reacting to his unease. The incident with the sparks, as beautiful as they'd been, had shaken him to his core. Even after nearly a month later(and after a whole slew of new tests and an all-clear from Ratchet) he just couldn't loosen the knot of anxiety that was slowly tightening around his spark. He'd been thrilled at finally being released from the medilab but now, standing outside Swerve's, the thought of returning to his room was looking awfully appealing.

Just as that thought entered his mind a hand gently brushed his arm. “You sure you're up for this?” Ratchet asked, his voice gruff but infinitely kind.

Much like the bot himself, Ratchet's touch was grounding. “Mostly,” he replied.

“You looked nervous,” Ratchet leaned in close to Rung's audial, his words meant only for Rung. “If it's too soon we can always head back to my room instead.”

Ratchet's concern was not a surprise, neither was the guilt that lined his expression. Guilt, incidently, that Rung thought was thoroughly misplaced. This little excursion may have been Ratchet's idea, but it was an idea Rung recognised as necessary to his recovery. He needed to do this.

He smiled softly at Ratchet, hoping the expression would put his friend at ease. “I am, but that's to be expected. Isn't it?”

The Medic straighten up, huffing as he did so. “I guess.”

“And we're only staying for one drink, yes?”

“Just one?”

Rung smirked, then tapped a claw delicately against his chin and hummed thoughtfully. He made a great show of thinking about the question. After a pause, he answered, smirking as he did so. “Well, maybe two If I'm feeling particularly adventurous.” 

“Two, eh?” Ratchet crossed his arms and smiled at Rung's antics. “And they call me a party bot.”

Rung laughed and once again found himself grateful for Ratchet's friendship. He knew how important a strong support system was to his long term recovery, and Ratchet proved to be a solid foundation. Using that same support, Rung gathered up all those anxieties and fears, all perfectly normal emotions for him to be experiencing, and put them aside for the moment. Acknowledging that those emotions existed within him, but not allowing them full control. The first step had been taken, now it was time for the second.

Ratchet, perhaps sensing the shift in Rung's thoughts, placed his hand over the door's control panel. “Ready?”

'I'm can do this,' he reassures himself as he dimmed his optics, took one last calming breath, and nodded. “Ready.”

Ratchet opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit bar. Rung, anxious but determined, followed him through the doorway and, for a few precious moments, everything looked like it would be okay.

Including Swerve, who was hard at work behind the counter, there weren't that many customers tonight. Severn, maybe ten, bots(neither of who Rung could immediately identify)sat at various tables around the room, drinking and swapping gossip. Despite the low turnout it was still quite lively, which made the abrupt silence all that more jarring.

No one was screaming. There were no weapons powering up. No shouted threats. Just silence as the entire bar stared at him, mouths agape. Fear and anger he could cope with, had even prepared for it. Yet, somehow, their silence was so much worse. 

His trained eye didn't miss how their eyes were drawn to the tentacles trailing down his back. Rung, who was so used to going through life either forgotten or ignored, was woefully unequipped to deal with the attention of so many. On top of that, a strange sound, like the rattling of metal plates, started to fill his audials. At first, he thought it was a symptom of his rising panic until, out of the corner of this eye, he caught a glimpse of a quivering tentacle. The source of the noise. 

He hands flew to his mouth as he gasped and stumbled, as if physically struck. The sound grew louder as all four tentacles started to shake, a sign of his growing distress.

Amazingly, Ratchet's clam words cut through the panic. “It's okay, Rung. It's okay,” he said, voice soft and free of judgement. “Tonight not the night. It's not the end of the word. Come on, let's go.”

“Yes, that might-”

“EVENING LOSERS!” A loud, familiar voice bellowed from behind them.

Later, Rung would admit that except for a few details like the sound of breaking glass,and someone shouting his name, he didn't remember much of what happened when Whirl had startled him, causing him to spin on the spot and upend a nearby table with his flailing tentacles. The only thing he could recall with any clarity was the moment when he ran out of the bar.

=-=-=-=-=-=-

He didn't know precisely how long he ran for, or how far, he just knows that when he finally stops he's completely and utterly lost. He stands there, alone, in the empty corridor, trying to still his shaking frame as shame burns through his circuits. The stares. The silence. It had all been too much for him, too soon.

A little voice gently reminds him this is a normal reaction, that he shouldn't be so hard on himself for one small setback. The reminder does little to calm his racing spark. He'd been doing so well. Finally feeling at ease in his own body. He'd stopped freezing whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface. Even the tentacles were feeling more like an actual part of his frame, rather than a separate entity that seemed to insist on snagging on anything within reach. It felt as if all his, and Ratchet's, hard work had been undone in the literal blink of an optic.

He placed a hand gently over his chest, sharp claws just barely scraping the smooth, curved surface of his spark sphere. He can feel the heat falling off his frame in waves. For one, horrifying instant he imagined he could feel the Sparkeater parasite, currently coiled around his spark casing, syphoning off his life force and further altering his frame...

He sighed, let his hand fall to his side, and stared up at the stark metal ceiling above. He was usually so skilled at sealing and sectioning off his own thoughts and feelings, had to be if he wanted to remain impartial when treating his patients, but it felt like all the the anxieties and fears he'd tried so hard to lock away were clawing to get out.

Closing his optics, Rung takes several, deep, measured breathes, using the wall as support. It's a technique he's used with many of his patients over the centuries, and he's pleased to discovery it work just as well with him. Slowly, with each breath, he feels some calm returning to him. The shame is still there, simmering beneath his plating, but it doesn't sear his lines like before. If anything, he feels more ashamed for leaving Ratchet alone to deal with the mess he caused.

He can't believe he reacted like that, running away like a startled new spark, and getting himself lost in the process. He looks at his surroundings, hoping for some signage that will help him find his way in this warren of a ship, but nothing stands out to him. The corridor looks identical to every other corridor on this ship. Wonderful.

While he stands there, going over his limited options, he hears heavy footsteps fast approaching. He freezes, and turns to look back down the corridor where the sounds are coming from. A tall, blue bot with obvious car kibble rounds the corner and looks down the connecting hallway, his face looking almost frantic. Rung's wondering what to do when the blue bot finally spots him. 

He grins. “Rung! There you are.” He exclaims, relief flooding his features. “You gave us a real fright there. You okay?”

Rung is frozen to the spot. The anxiety from before lingers but hearing his own name correctly said shocks him more than anything, and from a complete stranger, no less. Wait, no. Not a stranger. A memory, clouded by pain and fear, struggles to surface.

The bridge, crowded with bots. 

Someone screaming his name as his frame burns.

Fighting to keep his optics open whilst Skids-

“Skids?” he whispers, softly. 

Skids smiles as he walks towards him, slowly. It gives Rung the impression of someone approaching a scared animal. Skids is still smiling when comes to a stop in front of him. “Hey, you remember me. Glad I left an impression. Hope it was a good one.” he chuckles.

Rung feels off-balance but he doesn't feel upset by this. Compared to the reaction he got in the bar earlier, Skids open friendliness is welcome, but he's still a little wary. A part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Still, he manages a small smile as he responds. “Um, Yes. And I'm fine,thank you.” He hugs himself, and looks up at Skids. “Did-Did Ratchet send you after me?”

Skids laughs again as he places one hand on his hip, his other rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh, sort of. Let's say the old Hatchet is living up to his name. Poor Whirl. I volunteered to go find you.”

Guilt nibbles at Rung's core. Poor Whirl, indeed. It had been an accident, him startling Rung. Certainly not something to warrant the wrath of the infamous Hatchet. “Oh... Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” Skids is still smiling but it looks a little different, not quite reaching his optics, but there is something there. Guilt? Before Rung can try to identify the emotion Skids is talking, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Rung thinks the gesture makes the other bot looks oddly vulnerable. “Hey, about earlier,” he starts, his voice soft and apologetic. “I'm sorry. I think you just caught us all by surprise. I mean, we've heard the rumours but... I'm sorry. It's not really an excuse, or anything, but, yeah...” He trails off when he realises he's rambling a bit but Rung it touched by his sincerity. 

Skids suddenly covers his face and sighs into his palms. “Right, why don't we head back and try again?” he asks, looking at Rung over the tops of his fingertips.

Rung isn't sure how to respond, so he takes a moment to take stock of his feelings. A part of him wants to go back with Skids, to sit with him and Ratchet and have that promised drink(maybe two) but the rest of him is suddenly exhausted and anxious for the comfort of his habsuite. He's feels oddly fragile, like the smallest thing could tip him over. He's disappointed with himself, but the little voice from before soothes him, telling him that it's okay to seek solitude when the world feels overwhelming.

Having reached a decision, he smiles sadly at Skids. “I... That's really kind of you but I think I'll just call it an evening. ”

Skids lowers his hands, and the disappointment Rung sees on his face is honestly surprising. “Oh. Fair enough,” he murmurs. 

“Perhaps, Perhaps another night?” Rung smiles to himself because he knows it's true. Maybe not tomorrow night, or even this month, but only day he'll take up Skids on his offer. 

Skids seems to like his response because a little light returns to his expression. He nods, “Sounds good.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder, back down the hallway. “Come on, Eyebrows. I think we better go rescue everyone from Ratchet. He'll be wondering what happened to you.”

“Lead the way.” He pauses, then frowns. “Wait, Eyebrows?!”


End file.
